


i’ll crawl home to her.

by mouthymandalorian



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, F/M, Fluff, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Smut, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:08:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29700333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mouthymandalorian/pseuds/mouthymandalorian
Summary: marcus pike has something to tell you. in his haste to do so, he walks in on you having a very private moment.reader is fem. :)
Relationships: Marcus Pike/Reader, Marcus Pike/You
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29





	i’ll crawl home to her.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr.](https://mouthymandalorian.tumblr.com)
> 
> i have marcus pike problem and i wrote more smut, happy thursday, babes. no beta, we die like men, etc.

Marcus tosses and turns as he thinks of you. It’s always hard to sleep, but more so recently—since he realized he loved you. Marcus is not usually a man who holds back. He prides himself on his intuition and his willingness to take leaps. Or he did. Until Teresa Lisbon came into his life and proved him wrong.

But you’re not Teresa. And he’s been unfair to you. You’d shown interest, he’d shied away, and you’d backed off. You stuck around, though, staying friendly, and he’d let you get close. As friends. Only as friends. You seemed content with it.

The truth, of course, was more complicated. Marcus wanted you, too. He really wanted you. He caught himself staring at you throughout the day when you looked up and smiled in his direction. He’d shake his head and smile back, pretending he wasn’t wondering what your hands would feel like in his.

You’d noticed—of course you’d noticed. But he’d rebuffed you once, and you figured he had a good reason. So you left it alone. Went through half the people in DC trying to find someone who even slightly compared to Marcus. There was no one. So you settled for being his friend. If he wanted you, he’d come to you, right?

Tonight is one of those nights that Marcus knows he won’t sleep. He should talk to you. See if there’s anything left. See if he still has a shot.

You live three blocks away. He knows because he waters your plants when you’re out of town. It’s not that late. He knows you’re a night owl, anyway, and rarely get to sleep before midnight. Marcus climbs out of bed and puts on a pair of grey sweatpants and a white v-neck t-shirt.

The night air is sultry and the city buzzes around him. He’s tired of ignoring his feelings. Tired of pretending he doesn’t come in his own hand, thinking of you pressed against him, around him, your mouth open wide, waiting to take all of him.

He wants to let you in.

When he gets to your apartment building, he lets himself into the lobby with his spare keys. He should have called, but if he stopped to think he would have found a reason not to do it.

It’s only when he gets to your door that he thinks this might be a mistake. It’s 10 pm and you’re a woman who lives alone. He doesn’t want to scare you by knocking on your door. So he takes his phone out of his pocket and dials your number. He hears your phone ring through the thin walls, but you don’t answer. It’s so unlike you it jars him. You always answer.

He tries again. Still no answer. Maybe you’re just in the shower. Then he knocks. Nothing. There are a million reasons for you to not answer your phone, and it’s not that you’re in danger, or that you’re ignoring him. But he couldn’t live with himself if something had happened when he was right here.

Taking a deep breath, he tries your door handle. To his utter surprise, it opens. The light in your living room is on and your phone is on your coffee table, next to the peace lily that tries to die every time you leave him in charge of it. You’re nowhere.

The apartment is quiet, mostly, but he hears an odd noise coming from the back. Marcus calls your name, but there’s no answer. His eyes dart around the apartment, looking for signs of foul play, wishing he’d brought his gun. And then he notices...clothing. Bits of clothing. Yours.

Your shoes, a skirt, the blouse you wore today. A bra. And at the end of the hallway that led to your dimly lit bedroom, a pair of white cotton panties. Marcus gulps.

He should leave. He should really leave. Do you have someone over? You still hadn’t answered him. He just needs to check. He just needs to see if you’re okay.

He hears you gasp. The sound makes his cock twitch, and he moves slowly to your bedroom. The strange sound—a buzzing noise—gets louder. When he peers in, he knows he should leave. This is not for him to see. But he wants to see it so badly. He’s so weak for you.

You lay sprawled on your bed, eyes closed in concentration, biting your lip, whimpering. Legs spread wide open, feet planted on the mattress, a buzzing wand between your legs. You’re so far away you don’t notice him at all.

Marcus freezes. He wants to leave and give you privacy, but he can’t stop looking at the scene in front of him. Your pussy is dripping, throbbing; sticky wetness clinging to your inner thighs. The view is perfect. He can smell your arousal and it makes him lightheaded.

You press the wand a little firmer to your clit and buck upward, and a single word comes out of your mouth.

“Marcus,” you gasp.

Marcus stops, thinking you’ve seen him, but realizes your eyes are still closed. No, you’re just...thinking about him. While you do that to yourself. There has never been anything more beautiful than your cunt. He’s so hard for you it hurts. But he needs to leave. This is wrong. He knows it’s wrong, and he backs away, hoping to stay as quiet as possible.

He immediately trips over your white cotton panties.

The noise of his landing startles you out of your reverie, and you jump up, looking around frantically. When you see Marcus laid out in front of your bedroom door, you’re simultaneously relieved and horrified. It’s not a murderer, but what the hell is he doing here? And, oh, god, you’re so naked and raw and part of you wants him to see, but it humiliates the rational part of you.

“Marcus? What the hell are you doing here?” you ask, trying to raise your voice, but it’s still raspy with desire. You scramble to cover yourself.

“I’m so sorry, I came to talk to you and then you didn’t answer your phone and I knocked on the door and you didn’t answer that and I was afraid something was wrong and the door was unlocked, I swear!” he rambles, desperate for you to believe him, face beet red, looking anywhere but you. He’s stood up by now, and his gray sweatpants do a terrible job of disguising his own arousal.

Oh, god, you’d been murmuring his name the whole time. And you’d left the door unlocked? You remember you got home from work late, and you were so desperate to imagine him inside you. You’d been squeezing your legs together all day thinking about him.

“You said my name,” he says suddenly, in a husky voice. His deep brown eyes are wide and glittery, still looking resolutely in the opposite direction. He can’t help himself. He needs to know.

“I did,” you confirm. You should kick him out or at least get dressed, but there’s something shimmering in the air between the two of you and you don’t know if it’s desire or the sultry summer breeze, but you want to find out. 

“Is that something you want?” he asks, finally sliding his eyes over to you. Marcus feels some of that confidence he used to have with women blooming in his chest. You could have any person you want and you’re here alone, fucking yourself and thinking about him. He should buy you dinner first, but there’d be plenty of time for that later. He’s spent too long denying himself your ethereal form.

“You know it is, Marcus,” you whisper. He moves in a quick stride from the door and kneels in front of you, and your breath catches in your throat.

“Show me,” he prays, “You’re so pretty. Show me what you were doing while you were thinking about me. You look like a goddess.”

His voice cracks and your eyes mist over; no man had wanted to see you indulge in your pleasure just for yourself. You nod and lean back, trying to get comfortable. Marcus, ever helpful and ever the gentleman, darts to the head of your bed and grabs two pillows, gently placing them under you to support your head and back.

You want to kiss him so much, but if you do, you won’t take your hands off of him. And he wants to watch you. Marcus wants to watch you.

Marcus’s head spins as he lowers himself again, kneeling at your altar, his breathing uneven as you spread your legs and bring the wand back down to where it had been before. There is an intimacy here that he’s never felt, not with anyone. You feel it, too.

The buzzing starts again, and you press the wand against your clit and feel yourself pulse. It’s different with his eyes lingering on you, mouth open in wonder, like he’s never seen a pussy before, like it’s his first time being with a woman.

It’s different because it’s you.

You whine at the pleasure moving through your core, burning up to your neck, your free hand clutching at the blankets. You feel so exposed and dirty, him fully clothed and you completely naked. When you choke his name out again, he grunts and palms himself through his sweatpants.

“You can touch yourself, too,” you say, and he moans at your permission, and pulls his cock out. It’s thick and long and gorgeous and you’re afraid you’ll start drooling thinking about it in your mouth. The sound of his hand moving over his cock is exquisite and you moan so loudly you’re afraid the neighbors might hear.

“Fuck,” he mutters, “you’re so beautiful. I th-think about you so much. I want to be with you, I want you, I’m s-sorry it took so long.”

He rambles his sweet prayer, eyes heavy with lust, and the keening noises that come out of you sound like music. Your hips move up, grinding into the wand, and he watches your arousal leak onto the bed. Marcus wants to lick it up, he wants to taste every part of you; he wants to remember exactly what you look like the first time he watches your pretty pussy come for him. Your moans tell him you’re almost there.

“Baby,” he says, “come on. I know you’re almost there. I know you can do it, baby, I need to see you, I need—”

His coaxing sends you over the edge. Your leg shakes and your toes curl and you hear a strained noise from Marcus; he’s holding himself back, desperate not to come in his own hand.

“Jesus. Jesus Christ,” he says, teeth clenched. Marcus has recovered Rembrandts that weren’t as beautiful as your leaking cunt. He rises to his feet and hovers over you, nervous.

“Can I taste?” he asks, and you almost fall apart again, the pathetic whine of yes tumbling from your lips. He moves to your head first, placing a hard, fierce kiss on your mouth and it surprises you. His lips are soft and plump; tongue thick and lazy as it works its way into your mouth.

And then he’s gone again, down between your legs, kissing your mound, groaning into you. He pushes your lips open and flicks his tongue, careful of your sensitivity, and it’s overwhelming in the most luxurious way.

Marcus can’t stop thinking about how lucky he is that you’ll let him be here, between your legs, kissing the most sinful and sweet part of yourself. His cock is so hard it aches, but he’s going to get you to come again before he fucks you.

It doesn’t take long. He drinks all of you in, firmly flattening his tongue against your clit and teasing it with the tip when you lift up. He slips two fingers inside you, quickly finding your G-spot. Stars burst behind your eyelids and you can’t stop making murmuring his name. He kneads the sides of your thighs, soothing you.

Marcus moves up to your mouth and you kiss him, tasting yourself, your slick coating his mouth and chin. His eyes are still glistening; lust-blown pupils rake over your face. He swipes a thumb over one of your hard nipples and takes it into his mouth.

“How do you taste so fucking good?” he asks; a genuine question, which you find endearing. You run your fingers through his messy hair and smile at him.

“You’re sweet,” you say, “Let me suck your cock, Marcus.”

Marcus elicits a strangled groan.

“Please, I’ve dreamt about—”

But he kisses you again and pulls his sweatpants off, thanking whatever god is out there that he took a shower tonight instead of waiting till morning. He lays down and you climb between his outstretched legs. You start at his chest, scattering kisses around his nipples, leading a trail down his torso, and drawing your tongue down his hip bones. He’s shivering some, but it’s not from cold.

“Let me take care of you, Marcus. Let me be good to you,” you beg. He moans and moves his hips.

“Please,” he says, and you lick a stripe up his cock, cupping his balls with your hand, massaging them lightly.

“Fuck,” he hisses, moving his hips upward. You can’t help but giggle softly, and Marcus is sure it’s the sexiest fucking thing he’s ever heard. When you take his cock into your mouth, he groans and pushes into your mouth. He puts his hands on the back of your head, but doesn’t move you back and forth. He just wants to cradle you.

You bob up and down, humming around him, and the vibrations are divine. You open your jaw wider, determined to get all of him, and your throat relaxes. When he’s fully in, he gasps in surprise and pleasure. You’re slow and sensual and he stares up at the ceiling, heart beating wildly, frantically whispering your name. You feel him tensing up and pulling back, like he’s trying to control himself, trying to feel you for as long as possible.

It’s too much, though, and he pushes you back lightly. You look up, questioning.

“I need to be inside you. I won’t last if you keep going,” he says, sheepish, and your gentle smile reassures him it’s fine. Then you bite your lip.

“I don’t have a condom,” you say, “But I just got tested, all negative. And I have an IUD.

Marcus nods, closing his eyes, thinking about coming inside of you.

“Me, too,” he says, and you quirk your eyebrows. “I mean — I don’t have an IUD, I—”

You giggle at him again and climb onto him.

“Shh,” you say, placing a finger over his mouth and bending down to kiss him. He opens his mouth for you, taking your finger and sucking on it. You lower yourself onto him and feel a stretch, despite your earlier orgasms. He’s thick and rigid.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he says, teeth gritted. You move back and forth, achingly slow, getting used to his size inside of you. You lean back, balanced on his knees, and grind down onto him.

“Is this what you want, Marcus?” you ask in a throaty whisper. “Or do you want it faster? What do you want, Marcus?”

“You,” he whimpers, losing himself in the way you say his name, letting your voice wash across him. “I just want you.”

He watches you move back and forth above him, rocking yourself on his cock, soft curls peaking at him. He puts his hands on your hips and holds you in place, careful not to dig too hard.

“I’m not made of glass,” you say, but he digs in only slightly harder. You bounce on him and lean down to press your forehead to his. He feels divine inside of you. You’ve secretly wished for him for years, and he was inside you like a fever dream. If you woke up and it wasn’t real, you didn’t know if you could cope. Your passion makes you needy and you speak your thoughts.

“Don’t leave me, Marcus. I n-need you. Always needed you, always thinks about you, can’t be without you anym-more,” you say, voice catching your throat, tears threatening to spill out of your eyes, and he pulls you as close as he can until you’re flush against his chest. He fucks up into you and you stop and let him.

“I won’t, n-not going an-nywhere, should have t-told you, beautiful, so fucking perfect, so pretty, I need you, I need you,” he murmurs into your mouth, kisses your cheeks and forehead, nips at your neck.

His hips stutter and you feel something in your heart — fear, maybe, fear that he’s only saying these things because you’re bouncing on his cock, and you don’t know if you can take it if that’s the case. You grab onto his arms, trying to memorize him if this is it.

He moves and moves and juts into you and you feel him; hot, wet, gushing into you; he’s everywhere, and he cries out your name. Marcus feels like he’s confessing sins, washing himself clean of whoever he was before. Now the only thing he wants to be is yours.

Your sweaty bodies are still for a moment while you both catch your breath. You are tender, vulnerable, waiting for the inevitable, for him to come to his senses. It doesn’t happen, though. He pulls you closer to him.

“Can I stay here tonight?” he asks, eyes wide and dark and pleading. And you nod, trying not to betray your emotions. His cock is still in you, and you’re not sure that you ever want it to be any other way.

You realize it’s silly, this fear you had. As if Marcus Pike would use you for a one-night stand. As if it wouldn’t be his mission to love you as hard as you’d let him from now on. As if he wouldn't marry you tomorrow if you asked him.

He slips out of you eventually, rolling you over onto your back, and goes to the bathroom to wet a washcloth and clean you up. Then he pulls the blankets over both of you and turns off the lights. When he sees your naked body lit by the moonlight, he is sure he’s in love. You pull yourself next to him and he wraps his arms around you.

But then he moves and gets out of bed, still naked, and — god, his butt is so cute — you look at him in confusion.

“Locking the door. Don’t want any perverts wandering in here,” he says, smirking.


End file.
